


the touch of your lips

by zauberer_sirin



Series: Cousy RomCom Challenge [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Director Daisy Johnson, Dream Sex, F/M, Future Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 11:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13974027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Written for the RomCom Challenge at johnsonandcoulson.com - Prompt: "Daisy has a definitely non-platonic dream about Coulson and can’t behave normally around him afterwards"





	the touch of your lips

**i.**

“Are you okay?”

Daisy jumps, not out of surprise, but because Coulson’s hand touching her shoulder looks exactly like Coulson’s hand in her dream, touching her knee, her legs, and she jumps, just in case he can tell, just by touching Daisy, that there was a dream version of him with her last night. She’s been trying not to think about it all morning, but being stuck in a plane with him is making it impossible to shut certain images off her mind. 

It’s normal, she repeats to herself. She’s basically had sex dreams with everyone she knows (well, not everyone, maybe, she hasn’t had dreams with Fitz, because yikes) and she has been in enough therapy to know sex dreams are not connected to sexual attraction. 

This was different to any sex dream - there was no sex as such, just Coulson caressing her legs while they both were lying on the porch of a cabin (she thinks it’s the same place where he brought her when she first got her Inhuman powers). There is a lake in front of her and sunlight bounces off the surface, blinding Daisy for a moment. She’s just wearing a shirt and she has the feeling it’s not hers. There’s someone with her, lower on the porch steps, his head dropped as he draws one hand up Daisy’s leg. The touch is light at first, but deliberate. Hands that know what they’re doing. It makes Daisy feel… well, _sexy_. And outside dreams she never feels sexy. It’s only when the person lifts his head that Daisy discovers it’s Coulson and in the dream suddenly everything makes so much more sense for it.

She remembers him smirking before dropping his head again to kiss her knee.

She remembers the sun on Coulson’s arm, how the part where it fell on his prosthetic was slightly warmer than the rest of his skin, and she remembers Coulson explaining (without actually talking, cause it’s a dream, so dream logic and all that) the material of his prosthetic warms up a little quicker than actual human flesh. In the dream she’s fascinated, running her fingers up and down his arm, feeling the difference. Coulson mimics her gestures, bringing his hand up her leg, his fingers darting on the inside of her thigh, closer and closer and-

And that’s where the dream ends, which she’s thankful for, because she wants to be able to look at Coulson in the eye at some point.

She mostly remembers she felt _happy_ and safe and loved, like she had everything she needed in life, right there.

She doesn’t know how to explain the feeling - just that once she has experienced it (even in a dream), it’s really hard not to want more of it.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she tells him, pretending to look into his eyes but actually looking slightly away. “Just distracted.”

“Well, we touch ground in five minutes,” Coulson informs her. He smiles a bit. “We can’t have our leader distracted right before the mission.”

Daisy nods. “Right. Mission.”

And it’s easy to push the memory of the dream away.

For a while, anyway.

 

**ii.**

The plane kitchen is dimly lit, and that’s good, given her headache. She opens another beer, and lets out a tiny moan upon checking that her temple is still swollen.

“Let me take a look,” Coulson says, trying to be helpful, lifting gentle fingers up to her cheek.

Daisy recoils. “No, it’s fine.”

She goes sit across the table from him.

Winding down from a mission, this is what they do, having a beer together afterwards. They’ve been spending more and more time together since she’s become Director and he’s become her right hand on the field. Maybe that’s why the dream happened. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything after all.

Coulson stares at her - she can feel it, her cheeks becoming warmer, and she hopes they’ll stop doing that at some point - for a long beat, like he’s trying to figure her out.

“This is the third time you’ve done this today,” he says.

“Done what?”

“Pull away when I touch you,” he says. He sounds worried. Daisy knows that they are not touchy-touchy, that’s not their relationship. But she wouldn’t shy away from his touch either. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she tells him. “I did.”

She tells him about the dream. In detail. Not just what happened in it, but how it _felt_ , the feeling of contentment she experienced in it, like nothing else in her life. Well, nothing else except for Hive. But she means something real.

Coulson listens to her, and to his credit he doesn’t seem too embarrassed. He takes a sip from his beer every now and then while she goes on in detail. Daisy feels like she shouldn’t keep anything from him, not even about this. She tries not to make it sound too dirty - because it _wasn’t_ , she swears it wasn’t. It was mostly romantic, in a way she has never experienced with her partners in real life. She tells Coulson this too, that’s when he frowns a bit and for a moment he looks like he might say something, but he stops.

She tells him about the sun warming up his prosthetic.

About the glint of light reflected on the surface of the lake.

Why does she feel the need to tell Coulson everything?

This goes beyond wanting him to understand why the touch of his hand reminds her of his hands in the dream, his lips in the dream, the happiness he gave her in the dream, and why she has to turn away from him. She wants him _know_.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “It’s my problem, it’s not your problem.”

Coulson takes another sip from the bottle, in silence, like he’s pondering something.

 

**iii.**

She narrows her eyes, almost closing them.

The sun, bouncing off the lake.

She lying on the porch of the cabin, her legs bare across the wooden steps. 

A shiver across her body. A kiss on top of her thigh. Finger wrapped around her knee.

Coulson looks up.

“Is this how dreamed it?” he asks.

Daisy smiles.

It’s not the same cabin, of course, but it’s close enough.

She’s just wearing a shirt, but it’s hers - she prefers her own flannels, Coulson’s shirts are too starchy to bask in the sound in them. He himself is wearing a t-shirt. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days and it’s beginning to show. Things in real life are never as clear cut as in dreams. Things in real life tend to have a stubble.

Other things are different; she runs her hands over Coulson’s arm. She can barely tell where the prosthetic starts. So much for the accuracy of dream logic.

There’s his question, of course. His voice, that was missing from the dream.

Daisy looks down, shield her eyes with her hand so that she can stare into Coulson’s.

“You know it’s not,” she says, dropping her mouth to his brow. “You know it’s much better.”


End file.
